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my dead brother

I sit in the hallway listening to the screams of my mother, the pain in her voice and the worry on my father's face. the doctors look to my father and I with pity as father walks to her fighting tears. He won't cry he knows he needs to be strong for mother, for me.

 


My life was normal from then on, fights with my brother, practicing for my football games. And getting good grades in school. until the the 28th of october. When the johnson brothers pick a fight with my brother, he makes a mistake by not taking the beating. He knows he messed up. Three days later the bell rings and my brother leaves the school, the were waiting for him the pull him by the hood off the bus and beat him to death.
My face sinks and i feel regret for not defending my little brother. I regret i would feel for the next 13 years. I am thirty now but still manage to keep my regret fresh. I go into the bathroom and take a cold shower. no matter how many times I take a shower my regret still sits heavy on my mind, the one thing i cant wash. I hear a knock at my door. I check my security camera a man in a grey  hoodie stands outside of my house with an orange pumpkin pale. Only problem is the fact that is the middle of march.  I turn my shower off and re dress i grab my gun and fasten it to my boot. I open the door and recognize a face covered in blood, my brother. I faint in shock.


I awake the next morning in my bed clueless to how I got there. I sit up my head throbbing from my fall. I turn on the news and learn that the grey hooded man killed 56 people in the span of 12 hours. I talk to my mother about it she tells me that i have no brother . she tells me that he died. “I know he died I feel regret every day”  “ but son there was nothing you could have done” “but i saw him get beat and i did nothing”  “ what do you mean you saw him get beat?   Your brother was a stillborn.” 




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